


Dynamic Oops-O

by DawnsEternalLight



Series: Dick and Dami Week 2019 [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics)
Genre: Comedy of Errors, Dick Grayson and the no good very bad day, Fluff, Gen, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, brought to him by his favorite tiny terror of a brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 23:25:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18398486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: Dick and Damian on a normal, chaos filled, day. Or, Damian tries to help but just keeps getting it wrong.





	Dynamic Oops-O

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Dick and Damian week 2019 day 1: Dynamic Duo/Nightwing and Flamebird

Dick Grayson believed that Monday was one of those days only as good as you started it. He liked to start Mondays with a good breakfast. Usually something warm, or if he was running late something sweet. Rarely did he start Monday’s with cereal or just a cup of coffee, it wasn’t the way to start the week.

Damian, even after months of living together, still did not seem to realize that. Maybe. Dick wasn’t sure what game his brother was playing. What he knew, was that Alfred was already out for the day, and Damian had just handed him a bowl of what look like over-soaked Lucky Charms.

“I thought I would prepare breakfast for you this morning.” Damian announced, “You did not get up when I thought you would, so I have already eaten, but I will be happy to sit with you while you eat.”

Dick guessed Damian probably poured the bowl around the time he’d had his own breakfast. The cereal had been in the milk so long that the marshmallows had bled into the milk, coloring it an odd sort of pink. The actual cereal was so swollen Dick was sure it’d disintegrate with the merest poking of a spoon. It would be complete mush if he tried to eat it.

“I do not know why you prefer this sugared nonsense to normal food, but it seemed the safest option.” Damian continued, slipping onto the stool next to Dick.

It wasn’t a preference. Dick liked it on Saturdays, when he could afford the crash that came from sugar, and have something healthier later in the day. If he was being honest, his favorite time to eat the ‘sugared nonsense’ was post patrol, when he was exhausted but wanting something tasty that required zero work.

His preference was something heartier, eggs, bacon, some fruit, and toast. Or Alfred’s waffles hot and fresh, with all the toppings. He had none of that this morning, and he wasn’t likely to get away from this bowl until it was empty if he wanted to avoid hurting feelings or embarrassing Damian.

Dick liked to think that he and Damian were finally starting to click together. They’d been working as partners for months, and living under the same roof for longer. There had been rough patches, especially starting out, but Dick had learned from them. He thought he had Damian mostly figured out. And telling the kid he’d messed up with the cereal was tantamount to telling him Dick was rejecting him. At least it felt like that today.

“Well?” Damian prompted again, “I made it for you, you do not want it to sit any longer do you?”

“It’s kinda hard to make cereal, Damian.” Dick said.

Damian narrowed his eyes at him and Dick smiled.

“You know what? You’re right, the day’s a-wasting.” and with that Dick stuck his spoon in the cereal and started in.

It was as bad as he’d expected it to be, but he powered through a few bites. It was odd, Damian wasn’t the type to insist on breakfast together. If Dick missed breakfast with Damian, Damian left without him, usually to train, sometimes to work on homework early.

Him insisting on sticking around, preparing food for Dick, and even the light chatter he was attempting was odd. Odd enough to make Dick suspect he was being buttered up, if in a clumsy way. He’d done it often enough as a kid when he messed up something of Bruce’s or when he wanted B to do something for him. This was the first time he was experiencing Damian trying it.

He let Damian chat at him as he picked at his cereal until at last Damian stepped away for a minute. Dick then dumped the rest of the soggy cereal out and poured himself a cup of coffee. He was sipping at it when Damian returned.

“Hey, why don’t we look over your lessons for the day before I leave?” Dick asked, hoping to avoid any questions about his missing bowl.

“I would rather not.” Damian said.

Dick frowned at him, “What do you mean, rather not? Whether you memorized the Earth’s geography at age three or not, you still have some basics to learn, let alone all the other stuff. You can’t just skip out, kiddo.”

Kiddo was the wrong word to use. Damian stiffened and huffed at him. He slid off the stool he’d just returned to and crossed his arms to look up at Dick, lips puckered in an almost scowl.

“As I said, I would rather not start them at this moment. You are preparing to leave for work are you not?”

“Well yeah.”

“Then I will get your things.”

“Damian!” Dick said, but his brother had already spun on a heel and was retreating.

He had no idea what he’d done. Damian rarely argued against going over lessons with Dick anymore, in fact, Dick was pretty sure he kinda looked forward to it. It was some extra time spent together after all. Initially, he’d thought he was projecting childhood memories and enjoyment on Damian, but no amount of projecting could change the way Damian lit up at the opportunity to work close with him.

If Dick didn’t know him better, he’d have thought Damian was almost running into the room carrying Dick’s bag and briefcase (he really was turning into Bruce carrying a briefcase, really?). Damian’s foot slipped as rug turned to kitchen tile and Dick’s briefcase went flying as Damian stumbled forward. The kid caught himself, the sink caught the briefcase.

It hit with an actual slap of noise, amplified. The waves it made splashed out, coating the counter and Damian in suds. White foam was caught in Damian’s hair and on an eyelash that kept blinking to scare it away, until he batted at it with a hand. After, Damian seemed to notice where the briefcase had landed. He gulped, jerking it out of the water.

“It was not my intention to--” Damian started, grabbing at a hand towel to begin wiping down Dick’s case.

“It’s fine.” Dick said, tired already with the way this particular Monday was going.

Damian handed the case back mostly dry, “I thought I would walk with you to work today.”

Spring was in full bloom and with it, Dick had taken to walking to the WE building for work. He liked the feeling of stretching his legs before and after a day of far too much sitting. Plus, the building was close to the penthouse. Far closer than the manor had ever been, with it situated on Gotham’s outskirts, pulled away from the smoke and smog, and the noise of the city.

Dick frowned at him, “It’s too dangerous for you to walk back on your own.”

“Then I will join you at the office today.” Damian decided.

The urge to pinch his nose to stave off what was most likely going to be a headache was strong, “You can’t just join me at the office, Damian. You have schoolwork to complete. Plus, weren’t you planning to finish your model of Gotham today? You’re pieces came in didn’t they?”

Of all the things Dick had learned about Damian so far, it was how to tell a storm was coming. It was in Damian’s eyes first, they narrowed, not sharp like knives, but just enough to warn you like a cat thinking about pouncing. Then it was in how he’d straighten, just a tad bit more from his already rigid posture, gearing himself up to fight. His left foot would slide, just a bit further, to make his stance just that much stronger, like he was waiting for something to barrel into him.

Dick tried not to think about the reasons his brother would move on impulse into a defensive stance as this. How often had he prepared himself to actually defend his words? His deeds? His very existence? At least here, he was arguing against something as simple as staying in the penthouse most of the day or not.

"I insist you show me the office I will inherit when I am of age." Damian said, crossing his arms.

“Dami--” Dick started, but his brother cut him off.

Damian’s eyes did sharpen now, “You said you would take me and I am holding you to your commitment, Grayson"

What harm could it do to bring Damian along? Hadn’t Dick joined Bruce at the office countless times growing up? He’d skipped class so many times one year he’d almost been considered truant. With Damian it wouldn’t even hurt, he could get his lessons done here or at the office.

“Grab your things.” Dick relented, “All of the assignments you’re supposed to do today, office visit or not I refuse to let you skimp on your classwork.”

The harm of bringing Damian with him was swift. Where Dick had connected easily with the employees and staff at the building, Damian seemed to miss the mark every time. To the point where Dick wondered if his brother was purposefully trying to offend some people. There would be much apologizing and “he’s just a kid, he had a tough time with his mom” excuses tomorrow. Dick considered texting Alfred and asking him to bake a few batches of apology cookies.

Dick shuffled Damian into his office as soon as he could, closing the door a moment after he asked Beverly to forward any important information to his phone or knock first. She seemed happy to oblige him.

“I believe that went well.” Damian said, letting his backpack thump onto Dick’s desk, squishing a stack of papers with a crunch.

“It went about as well as letting a tiger loose in a butcher’s shop would.” Dick sighed, and dropped into his chair.

“Tt.” Damian sat in the chair opposite Dick and began rummaging in his bag, pulling first his laptop out, and then a large history book.

He tugged the bag off the desk, sliding papers with it so that Dick had to reach out to stop them tumbling to the ground. Over the desk he shot a glare at his little brother. In true Damian fashion he missed the look, instead turning to scowl at the room around them.

“The mess in here is disgraceful.” he huffed, “No leader of a company such as Father’s should ever been this disgusting.”

Dick took in a deep calming breath and counted backwards from fifteen before he responded, “Bruce’s office wasn’t always spotless you know.”

Damian raised an eyebrow at him for a moment before turning his disdain down at the desk.

“Look at these piles of documents. There is not even a place for me to work here.”

Dick felt his left lower eyelid twitch, “There’s a coffee table with little more than a vase on it over there.” he pointed to the table in question, “And if the vase is not to your liking you can toss it in the trash.”

The laptop, book, and backpack moved with Damian to the couch by the coffee table and Dick found himself able to work in blissful peace for a grand total of ten minutes. At that point Damian demanded tea. Not simply tea, but some brand and blend Dick had never heard of. He was then forced to take Damian downstairs to the cafeteria to pick out a “less than adequate” blend for Damian and a red eye for himself.

Things went on this way for most of the day. Dick would work for a few minutes until Damian interrupted him again and sent his whole train of thought crashing off it’s tracks. At last, Dick managed to shake Damian for a meeting. He firmly let the kid know that there was no way Dick was letting him come to the meeting, and depending on when it ended they could grab lunch.

Dick usually hated meetings. Not because they were dull (they typically were) or because he didn’t care what was going on in them (most of the time he didn’t) or even because they dragged on and on forever (they never finished on time). No, he usually hated them because no matter how many he attended, or what he had to say, he always felt like he didn’t belong. Like the men and women staring at him were only waiting for Bruce to stroll through the polished oak doors and really start the meeting.

To them, they were. Hush had outed himself as Bruce before Dick could figure out how to deal with Bruce’s death publicly, and they’d just rolled with it. It was easier this way. The official word to the world was that Bruce was taking extended time away from the office, a kind of business sabbatical, and Dick had stepped in to take over. Wel, Dick and Tim, whenever Tim decided to return. Dick was in charge, but only until Bruce returned. Problem was? B wasn’t coming back.

Dick hated that. He hated that every single time he sat down for one of these stupid meetings he was hit by the grief all over again. The warring emotions that made him want to slam his hands on the table and yell at all the suits and ties and slicked back hair that Bruce wasn’t coming back. That they were stuck with him and they’d better get used to it. That his dad wasn’t going to stroll through those doors and take the company back from his child who oh-so-obviously couldn’t handle it. That. That. That.

He had to stop thinking about this.

The meeting this time was a relief. It was time away from the tornado that had become Damian Wayne at Wayne Enterprises. That at least, he could look forward to.

He let the monotone voices wash over him with their normality. He breathed in the over chilled air of the meeting room. He cupped his hands around a disposable cup filled with coffee that had been brewed too dark for the grounds, but still wasn’t robust enough to handle his usual need for three sugars and a heaping helping of creamer.

It was, for the first time since he’d stepped into Bruce’s huge shoes, not the worst part of the job.

He took his time walking back to his office. He was hoping Damian had gotten bored and taken a nap, or was so engaged with his studies that he didn’t even notice Dick coming in. He eased the door open, trying to be quiet, and stepped into a spotless office.

Not a scrap of paper was scattered about. Books were neatly lined on their shelves. Dick’s assortment of pens that were out of ink had been cleared away, his trash had been emptied, and his tear away calendar had had every day of the past few months torn off leaving today shining bright and true on its face. The office even smelled fresher somehow, and Dick noticed the windows cracked open. He didn’t even know they could open this high up.

Damian stood by the door, wearing a proud look and what could almost pass as a smile. Dick almost felt bad for what he was about to do. Almost. He stepped back, close to the desk when Dick walked in, not as a defense, but to allow a fuller view of the room.

“You cleaned the office?”

“I have catalog your books by their library of congress classifications, your documents by most pressing to pointless, and your supplies by most likely to be of use.” Damian said. “I also took the liberty of discarding anything outdated or of zero worth.”

Dick’s eyelid was twitching again. He stepped carefully around Damian and sat down at the desk. Lost without stacks of paper to sort through or lean against.

“And how did you determine what I needed or didn’t need?”

“Tt. That should be obvious, Grayson.”

“Enlighten me.”

He could almost see Damian resisting rolling his eyes, “I keep up with what is going on at the company.”

“You mean you snoop.”

Damian leveled a look at him that could be interpreted as many things, Dick chose to think of it as haughtily annoyed.

“Regardless, you will find that my decisions were perfect.”

Dick stepped around his brother and sighed, before falling into his chair again. He tried to avoid glancing at the cracked open window and imaging himself dangling Damian out of it while reminding him that touching other people’s things was bad and that he should not reorganize anyone’s anything without permission.

Dick couldn’t do that. He was taking care of Damian for Bruce. This was for Bruce. He was Bruce’s kid, and it was Dick’s job to raise him right. Even if Damian was like a mini, extra rude and irritating version of Bruce. It was for his dad, his dad who he missed with every inch of his being every second of every day. But he couldn’t miss him right then, he had to focus on not dangling or dropping his son out of one of the tallest windows in Gotham.

“Decisions or not,” Dick said, searching his desk for the equipment request form he’d been going over before the meeting, “The main issue is that I had my own organization system, and now I’m not going to be able to find anything for a week.”

He found the form, buried under a stack of grant proposals and tugged it out to place in front of him. His hand reached, automatically, for his favorite pen and he found nothing.

“As I told you, the items are organized by--”

“Damian where is my pen?” Dick interrupted him, eyes raking the immaculate wood for the writing utensil. It wasn’t special, or fancy. It was a simple black pen with a Superman logo on the end that he’d managed to hang onto while all others had disappeared one by one from his desk, pocket, and once hand.

“Tt, you had no pen on your desk.”

“No.” Dick said, shuffling things around, and opening his drawer, “I did. It was right here. It had the Superman S on it.” he looked up, his face and tone as imploring as he could manage, “You have to have seen it.”

His brother shook his head, and Dick could see the truth in his face, he was confused, brows knit as he tried to imagine the pen in question.

“Damian I need that pen.”

It was his only pen. The single remaining pen he had to do any work with. Without it he’d have to start signing documents in his blood or something. Damian had to have noticed that he didn’t have any others. For some reason, Dick just couldn’t hold onto them. The vanished, as if Casper himself had made it his afterlife’s goal to steal each and every one. With the Superman pen as the exemption. Like the man’s symbol stood for the hope of everyone at the office waiting for Dick to sign their form.

Dick didn’t know what he’d done to draw Damian’s wrath, because that was wat today had to be. He must have slighted the boy on patrol the night before, or maybe Damian had caught him throwing out the cereal, or Dick might have done a hundred other things to force his brother’s hand.

When Damian acted out, he did it in a large, noticeable way. This day had, so far, been one large and unmistakable comedy of errors and inconvenience. It was, at last, starting to irritate Dick.

He shifted, sliding back from the desk in his chair to frown at Damian, “Your organization methods and mine are different, Damian.” he started, his voice stern but not harsh, “More to the point, you can’t simply come into someone else’s space and mess around with everything.”  
  
“Tt. I was doing you a favor. It is a disgrace to leave your office in such a way. To present yourself as disorganized, and uncaring for the position you are in. What light does that show on Father or his company?” Damian snapped, heated himself now, “It is disrespectful.”

“No.” Dick stood now, “What’s disrespectful is messing with my stuff without asking me.”

Damian glared at him, and seemed like he was gearing up to further the argument. He straightened, his eyes narrowed, and his foot shifted. So Dick stormed forward with his own argument.

“It’s going to take me hours to find everything I need now, perfect system or not. It’s not mine, and not only do I not know where anything is, because I didn’t move any of it I’ll have to relearn where each item has been placed, from document to paperclip.”

His words must have had an effect because Damian deflated, shoulders drooping again, and his eyes widening ever so slightly to something almost alarmed. Damian’s gaze moved down and he moved to straighten the calculator on Dick’s desk. Both hands reached out to adjust it just so, an index finger sliding along the keys to find the little raised bump on the five.

It was a very Bruce thing to do. Dick had the image of his father doing the same thing, time and again, as an attempt to find time to put his thoughts together. It happened most often when Dick managed to get a correction through his already distracted thoughts. Like he had to reset, to change course, and to do so meant avoiding people and fixing something physical.

Dick’s anger deflated as fast as Damian’s had. The image froze him and Dick had to swallow back sudden, hot, tears. Damian frowned at him, noticing the change.

“I'm going to go find a new pen. You, don't destroy anything else while I'm away." Dick said, then before Damian could respond, he turned on his heel and sped from the room.

Dick moved automatically to the storage closet, strides long and purposeful until the door slammed behind him and he sunk down against it. He pulled his knees close to his chest and buried his face in his hands, swallowing back a sob. It hurt. He'd thought he could skip the painful memories by using the meeting as a distraction, and he had. Then Damian had done that. That silly, simple, normal movement of the calculator.

That, at least, wasn't the kid's fault. Dick sucked in a shuddery breath, Damian couldn't help but be like Bruce. He was his kid after all. He was going to have mannerisms one way or another. Even if he'd been raised a continent away. Some things were just genetic.

Bruce. Dick missed him with his whole being. There were days he could shove down the memories, and the grief, then there were days it would hit him like Bane, pumped full of bright green venom and stronger than a freight train. It floored him, literally, and figuratively.

He did his best to keep his open grief a secret from his brother. Most of the time he could hide it from Damian. The kid was dealing with his own grief after all, and in his own ways. Dick couldn't put this on his shoulders too.

A bitter laugh bubbled up from his chest like a sob. As if putting his own grief on Damian's shoulders would be a thing he could even do. If anything Dick letting his grief hit him would only serve to prove further to Damian how little equipped Dick was to step into Bruce's shoes.

Damian still held him to a standard greater than anything Dick had expected. He held everyone to that standard, himself included. Even after all they'd been through, Dick hadn't quite managed to chip away at Damian's tough exterior enough to see the kindness and goodness he was always telling Tim was there. It shined through cracks, Dick had seen it. It bubbled up when Damian was hurt or upset or on those few occasions when he was well and truly frightened, but it didn't shine the way Dick knew it could.

He'd thought. He'd thought it had been starting too. He had been so hopeful they'd begun moving in a positive direction. Damian had been softer, well Damian's standard of softness anyway. He'd been less acerbic, and had more control on patrol. They'd fought less, and even had some good nights of quiet bonding when they weren't patrolling.

Damian had even started using the paints Dick had bought him. That, more than anything had been something to make Dick hope. But today? Today felt like a hundred steps back.

He sucked in a steadying breath and stood, steps back or not, he couldn't leave Damian alone in the office for long. Eventually he'd come looking for Dick and the last thing he wanted was to have Damian find him curled up like some simpering baby in a storage closet.

He clicked on the light he hadn't bothered to mess with and started searching for what he'd really come for, a pen.

They had boxes of notepads, sticky notes, folders, paperclips, and golf pencils. There were light bulbs, padded envelopes, and more tubs of white out than anyone could possibly use. But pens? Dick couldn't find a single one.

It was like the world really was out to get him. One pen at a time.

Dick rooted around in the closet for a while until he settled on grabbing a box of the golf pencils. He tucked it under his arm and clicked out the light as he left. He made a note to have new pens ordered, with a whole box being sent to his office.

He swung by the bathroom to wash his face and try to scrub away traces of tears. Cold water fixed puffy eyes and red noses, at least that's what he told himself as he straightened and blinked at his image in the mirror.

He didn't look like the mess he felt like inside, which was good. The more he could hide from Damian the better.

"Alright, off we go." he said to the golf pencils, "You all stay in this box at least until I make it to the office okay? Maybe we can throw you at Damian if he keeps acting like a brat."

Dick was expecting Damian to have folded himself back into his seat on the couch and to have buried his head in his studies when he returned. It's what he would have done after an argument with Bruce. But Damian wasn't Dick. Damian was Damian, and sometimes that meant returning from a pen acquisition trip to find the room smelling of Chinese food, with boxes laid out on the coffee table.

"How?"

Damian stood from his spot on the couch and glanced down at the spread, "I had already ordered before you returned from your meeting."

"You did?" Dick asked.

"You had mentioned lunch after the meeting, and after our trips to the cafeteria I determined the food there to be unsatisfactory, instead choosing to order from one of the menus you had in your desk."

Dick caught sight of the very menu sitting on his desk, folded open with old lines circled on the pages. Surprisingly, the meal he'd picked then was not what was laid out before him now. This, was a spread of foods he'd pick if asked 'What's your favorite'?

"We do not have this often at the manor, but I made meal assumptions from the few times you have dragged me out during patrol. I did not select anything I have not seen you eat before."

He paused then, and sat down, as if he had explained everything and didn't need to continue on.

He kind of had. He'd explained his reasons for ordering and his choices well enough. Though why was beyond Dick's comprehension. He had considered them going out for lunch sure, but this, this was actually really nice.

It cracked Dick's recent assumption that Damian hadn't changed all that much. Maybe his kid brother was trying, even if those trials were often messy and confused.

The meal was nice. It was an odd hodgepodge of foods Dick liked, but since it was from one of his favorite restaurants it all mostly went together. And even if it hadn't Dick would have still enjoyed it. Damian had specially picked it out after all.

He wished he could say that the rest of the day went smoothly, but he couldn’t. It felt like Damian picked at him all day, until Dick finally packed up some stuff to finish at the penthouse and called it an early day.

Damian made a beeline for the bunker as soon as they arrived at the penthouse and Dick let him go. Maybe he’d work off some of whatever had gotten into him, or maybe he’d just work himself exhausted and take a nap. Whatever he did, it left Dick uninterrupted time to work.

When Dick went down to the bunker he found Damian sharpening batarangs. He had the sharpened ones lined up in a styrofoam block, standing on their ends, like some kind of mini stakes. It was odd but Dick had done odder things as a kid. He was more surprised to find his uniform out and draped carefully on a chair beside Damian. His brother was already in his, without the mask.

“Ah, Grayson.” Damian said, looking between Dick and the uniform, “I thought you might appreciate efficiency today.”

“I, uh sure, Damian. Thanks.” Dick said, wondering how moving his uniform from his locker was more ‘efficient’ than letting Dick just change in the locker rooms.

He moved straight to the computer, passing up the laid out uniform. As eager as Damian was to patrol, he had a few things to sort out before they headed out. He had to pull up the previous night’s notes, and determine where they were going to start. There was a string of robberies at high end furniture stores and Dick still hadn’t figured out why, let alone who was doing it. He had a couple of ideas on where they might strike next however, and he was hoping to catch them in the act.

“If we are to leave in a timely manner you should be prepared.” Damian said, a moment before his chair scratched against the concrete, and his combat boots started their usual slap bang against the floor.

Dick opened the files to find them different. Damian had been in them, it was obvious from a glance. His precise language littered Dick’s notes, in little corrections, and deductions of his own. There were new images added to the folder, and a map with two of the five locations Dick had been considering marked with red pins. His brother had been busy.

“I took the liberty of goi--aahh!”

Damian yelped, and Dick turned in time to see his brother fall forward, almost into the batarangs. He held the batsuit in his arms, with the cape dragging. It fell onto the table as Damian turned, to miss the blades.

He straightened, face red from surprise. Dick let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, turning it into a sigh now that the danger was passed.

“Damian, please *be careful*. Patrol won’t happen, let alone be ‘efficient’ if you impale yourself while rushing around like a chicken with it’s head cut off.” Dick waved him over, “Bring me that and then set those batarangs down before something worse happens.”

The kid huffed, actually huffed, and balled the cape up into his arms. There was a ripping sound. The color drained from Damian’s face as his eyes widened ever so slightly. He tugged again and the ripping sound continued. With a start, Damian dropped the whole suit and jumped back.

“Just stop!” Dick snapped, jumping up from his seat to dart to the table.

He extracted the uniform and partially shredded cape and tried to think positive thoughts. In ten years this would be funny. Hilarious even. For now, he needed to take deep, calming breaths and count back from fifty.

Damian waited, looking like a deer caught in headlights, unblinking and half a second away from bolting.

“It’s fine.” Dick said, still angry, “It’s *fine*.” he repeated, softening the words.

Damian still didn’t move.

“Really, I’ll just use the old cape while Alfred fixes this one. It’s not the end of the world.”

It would be a pain. Dick only had the one light cape. All the others were still too bulky, long and heavy and troublesome. Alfred was still working on the other ones for him, but they took time and Dick wasn’t going to make him focus all his time on it.

His brother seemed rooted to his spot. Dick sighed and set a hand on his shoulder, “Dames, calm down, I’m not mad. A little irritated but it was an accident. Clean up those batarangs and I’ll get changed, then we can head out. Okay?”

Damian nodded and Dick left him to go find one of Bruce’s old capes.

It made patrol a pain. Dick was constantly flipping it over, shoving it back and grabbing handfuls as they moved. It dug and picked at his remaining nerves. Damian wasn’t helping. He kept cracking snide comments like: “Keep up, Batman.” “If you cannot handle a simple uniform alteration you do not deserve to wear the cowl at all” and “If you would like I can take charge of this bust.”

As if Dick was going to let the brat take the lead on their busting the furniture crew. They’d taken an educated guess based on Damian’s work from earlier and Dick was sure they’d catch the guys this time. Damian’s work had been good.

Good or not, Dick was Batman and Damian was Robin and Batman did not let a Robin run head first into danger if he could help it. So Dick would take the lead while Damian and his sass could settle in the back. His brother would be safer back there, and maybe Dick could show off just a little bit. Just enough to shut his mouth for a few minutes.

They crouched on the roof of the furniture shop and peered in the large glass dome on the roof, keeping an eye out for movement below. No security guards roamed the building, as the owner had elected to stick with just electronic security for the shop. It made sense, who stole furniture?

“I bet they’re smuggling something in.” Dick said, as small talk.

“Tt. Illegal furniture?”

Dick rolled his eyes, “No, like something in the furniture.”

Damian turned to look at him, “That would still be discovered. The rattle of drugs or guns inside a chest or armoire would be obvious.”

This pulled a smile to Dick’s face, “Oh ye’ of little faith, there are more ways to hide illicit goods in furniture than in chests or drawers. It could be sewn into cushions or tucked in false bottoms, secure so there was no obvious rattling.”

“We shall see.” Damian said, “Perhaps they are simply broke students, wishing to furnish their apartments. With the expense of college in this country it is a surprise more students have not started robbing for their furnishings.”

Dick laughed at that, “You.” he said, “have been spending too much time with Steph.”

“Tt. Do not be an idiot.”

They waited for four hours. Over the course of that time one tipsy couple stumbled by, and a series of cars hummed past. No one showed up to break in, no alarms were set off, and no police reported a break in at any other furniture store.

The gang had broken their pattern, or something had tipped them off to Batman’s stakeout. Either way, there was nothing to do about it now.

Dick called it a night, which irritated Damian but he was fine with that. One mark of irritation against a days worth of it seemed more than fair. Damian’s stewing in the car irked Dick though. It also reminded him of his theory about Damian’s mood all day. Was the kid punishing him? Had that been the source of the whole day’s chaos? Would going home early start the process over again tomorrow?

No. Dick was going to deal with this the moment they got home.

He parked, got out and pulled the cowl back, happy to have the thing off his head. He always felt like he could breathe better without it on. Like it’s weight was something he had to bear, but suffocating at the same time.

Damian stalked out of the car, peeling back his own mask to throw onto a work table.

“Damian.” Dick said, crossing his arms to eye his brother. He shifted, assuming a stance of authority with wide legs and shoulders rolled back.

“What?”

“I know I’ve talked to you about properly communicating your feelings before.” Dick started, “I thought we’d come to an understanding about it.”

Damian frowned at him, “What are you talking about, Richard?”

Dick sighed, “I think you know what I’m talking about.”

Damian’s frown deepened, his eyebrows crinkling together in confusion, “No. I don’t.”

“Really? So you weren’t trying to send me messages all day in some kind of messed up cryptic way?”

“Richard, if anyone is being cryptic and lacking in their communication skills today it is you.” Damian snapped, “I do not understand what you are talking about, and if you expect me to be clear on issues then you must also--”

“Damian, just stop.” Dick held up a hand, “Answer me this, what was today all about?”

Damian huffed, “Was it not obvious? You have been showing signs of stress and fatigue. As Robin it is my duty to ensure that Batman is functioning at his full capacity. I took action today to help relieve some of that strain.”

Dick blinked at him. This was not what he expected. This was the actual opposite of Dick’s assumptions. Damian had been trying to help. He’d been nice, in his own awkward way. He could see it now, from breakfast to trying to tidy his office, and even in his jabs through the day.

He was going to have to teach Damian how to give a pep talk, and to ask how to help someone’s load instead of taking that task on himself, but Dick was proud of him.

“I realize that most of my attempts only served to make things worse today. In the future I will alter my--”

Dick cut him off by leaning down to pull the kid into a tight hug. Damian squaked, but allowed the embrace. Dick squeezed and let his chin drop against Damian’s curls.

“Thanks.” he said.

“Tt.”

“Just knowing you were trying to help has improved my mood a hundred percent, Dames.” Dick pulled away and grinned at him, “Though next time try asking me how you can help instead of assuming, or you might find yourself dangling out of a forty-second story window.”

 


End file.
